


A Haircut

by mcconnell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcconnell/pseuds/mcconnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s three hours after Sirius first raises his eyebrows in silent questioning that Remus finally speaks up, saying something that both have been dreading for quite some time now. “Sirius,” he says, rather firmly despite his uncertain movements, “I think it’s time you got a haircut.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Haircut

Remus hovers around the kitchen of their flat, his lips pursed and a certain determination flickering on-and-off in his eyes by the hour. Sirius notices but decides not to say anything, supposing that, maybe, it’s just Remus’s nerves kicking in with the full moon soon approaching. But it’s three hours after Sirius first raises his eyebrows in silent questioning that Remus finally speaks up, saying something that both have been dreading for quite some time now.  
“Sirius,” he says, rather firmly despite his uncertain movements, “I think it’s time you got a haircut.”  
They’ve both known it for God knows how long, Sirius thinks. His hair is unruly at best, long enough to be pulled back and lacking the luster that it donned while they were in school and flecked with crumbs and general dirtiness. He guesses that he should be ashamed of its state, but, really, with a war going on and the threat of turning a corner and being hexed, he can’t find it within him to care.  
But, if Remus can, then Sirius can at least try.  
He offers a light shrug and a smile. “If you say so, Moons.”  
Sirius isn’t entirely certain of _how_ Remus expects him to get a haircut, with the aforementioned war and potential death lingering before them, but his unasked question is answered when Remus ducks and opens a cupboard, pulling out a pair of hairdressing scissors that Sirius doesn’t even remember buying. Remus wears an almost apologetic expression, as though he senses that Sirius has formed a bond with his hair and simply can’t bear to part ways with it, but, in truth, he hates it. Especially in the Summer, when it gets much too hot and, should he tie it back, an assortment of strands go astray and annoy the hell out of him.  
“I hope you don’t mind,” says Remus. “Me cutting your hair, I mean. I've never –“  
“’Course I don’t mind,” Sirius interrupts, clambering to his feet. “So, Monsieur, where do you want me? And don’t say naked and in bed, even though we both know that’s what you really want.” He winks.  
Remus lets out a small laugh. “Wherever. It doesn't much matter, does it? The place is a mess anyway; a few bits of hair on the ground won’t make a large difference.”

In the end, they settle with the kitchen. Sirius sits on a dining table chair, with a towel draped across his shoulders and Remus teetering about around him. Oddly enough, Sirius finds he isn't particularly worried about the job Remus will do. He thinks that has something to do with _trust_ and _a strong bond_ and all that rubbish Ev – _Lily_ , Sirius corrects himself quickly – is constantly badgering them about, though it might just be his eagerness to have short hair again.  
He first started growing his hair out when he left the Blacks. To this day, he still isn’t sure if it was another act of defiance, or if, after leaving, he simply didn’t think he’d need to keep anyone impressed. If anyone is to ask, though, he’ll stick with the former, for a certainty, but he senses that Remus and James and Peter, too, might already know otherwise. He doesn't much mind that.  
“Well,” says Remus, “here I go.”  
“Don’t make me look bad.”  
Remus laughs. “I’m not making any promises.”

It takes ten – fifteen, maybe, Sirius isn’t too sure – minutes before Remus sighs and puts the scissors down on the kitchen counter and steps back. Sirius is itching to see his new haircut, itching to run his fingers through it (though he’d never admit to that, because that would be _such_ a Prongs thing to do), but he forces himself to wait until Remus has pulled the towel off and is sweeping the hair across the floor with a broom that Sirius doesn’t remember buying.  
( _Seriously_ , he thinks, _when did we get all of this stuff?_ )  
Sirius gets up, dusts himself off despite not having done anything, and offers Remus a wry smile.  
“How do I look, Moons?” he asks.  
“Well,” says Remus, looking somewhat abashed, “let’s just say that, finally, the flesh reflects the madness within, shall we?”


End file.
